


Lace and Blood

by MercurialTenacity



Series: It's A Cruel World for Small Things [4]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Blood Play, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dresses, Face Slapping, Forced Feminization, Helplessness, Knife Play, Lace, Lace Panties, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Objectification, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Submission, Torture, lots of lace, pet!Credence, referenced Dark!Graves, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 04:39:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11120100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialTenacity/pseuds/MercurialTenacity
Summary: Credence catches sight of himself in the mirror across the room and his stomach lurches.  This isn’t any version of himself that he knows, this delicate, soft, fragile thing reflected back at him.  This is Grindelwald’s toy.





	Lace and Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WaywardGraves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardGraves/gifts).



> Inspired by WaywardGraves' request to see a follow up on Grindelwald's line in Know What You Are - Credence getting dolled up in lace and then soaking it in blood <3
> 
> Seriously Dead Dove, please read the tags first!

Grindelwald is gentle when he wakes Credence.  He finds the boy curled in Graves’ bed, peaceful in sleep, looking almost as though he chose to be there.  Grindelwald crawls over him, blanketing him with his body, and lays a hand on his cheek to kiss the boy awake.

Credence’s breath stutters and his eyes flutter open, whining into Grindelwald’s mouth with surprise and making Grindelwald’s lips curl into a smile against his own. 

“Come on, pet.  Up you go.”

Grindelwald takes Credence by the hair and pulls him up, not giving him time to adjust or get his balance.  Credence falls against Grindelwald’s chest and Grindelwald curls a hand around the back of his neck, firm and soft.  Possessive.

Credence looks around, trying to find Graves, the only possible hope of a distraction for Grindelwald, but Graves is gone.  It’s just Grindelwald with him now, and Credence closes his eyes against the sting of tears as resignation hits him.

There’s nothing he can do that won’t make it worse.

He does his best to go where Grindelwald wants him, stumbling along beside him still naked from his night with Graves and trying, _trying_ to be good.  His only hope now is to be good, and maybe it won’t hurt so much when Grindelwald plays with him.

Grindelwald takes him through to his own rooms, depositing him unceremoniously on the bed and turning to attend to several packages.  Credence watches him warily, fear and apprehension gripping his chest through the haze that his time with Graves and Grindelwald has become, and he waits.

When Grindelwald turns back there’s lace cascading from his arms, delicate woven threads in pale pastel spilling to the floor and looking obscene against the cruel amusement of Grindelwald’s smile.

Credence swallows.

“I’m going to make you pretty for me.  Don’t you think I deserve something pretty?”

Credence nods, eyes fixed on the lace.  He knows what Grindelwald thinks is pretty and he trembles at the thought of it, at the memories of Grindelwald complimenting his tearstained face and the welts he raises, the blood as it drips down Credence’s chest to pool on the sheets around him.  “Yes sir,” he whispers.

Grindelwald raises his eyebrows.

“Please – please sir.  I – I want to be p-pretty for you.  Will you make me pretty?”  Tears slide down Credence’s cheeks as he waits, helpless, for Grindelwald to take him.  To shape him into something which pleases him.

“Yes, I will,” Grindelwald breathes, and he’s on Credence in an instant.  Credence flinches when Grindelwald grabs his jaw and he slaps him for it, making Credence yelp and fold in against Grindelwald’s chest.

“There you go, there, shush.”  Credence’s tears come hot and fast and he can’t stop them, but he knows Grindelwald doesn’t want him to.  “I’m going to dress you up and make you beautiful.”

Credence shivers as Grindelwald strokes through his hair, smoothing away the tangles and knots with a murmured spell.  Maybe this time it won’t hurt so much, or maybe Grindelwald will let him lose consciousness before he really starts in and then Credence won’t have to feel it, maybe – maybe –

Grindelwald reaches over to the pile of lace and plucks out a little handful of fabric, practically sheer and more see-through than not, decorated with swirls of pink lace.  He holds it up to admire, and Credence sees what it is.

A delicate pair of panties, intended for him.

“Come now,” Grindelwald whispers against his ear, “be good for me.”

Credence nods.

Grindelwald helps him to slide the panties on, drawing them over his legs and up his thighs until they settle at his hips, cradling him and making him feel almost more exposed than when he was naked.  Grindelwald tucks his cock inside, half-hard from the slap, and adjusts the lace until it holds Credence how Grindelwald likes.  It creates a bulge in the otherwise smooth pink and Grindelwald runs a finger over it once, twice, teasing.  Credence shudders.

Next to emerge is a matching bralette and Credence is confused, he doesn’t need that, but – but Grindelwald knows better than him what he needs, and Credence obediently leans forward so that Grindelwald can slide the gracefully embroidered straps over his shoulders and fasten it around his back.  The band is snug, secure, and despite the lace it’s soft against him.  When Credence looks down he sees that the fabric has molded his chest until there’s a hint of a swell, the suggestion of what might be, and he doesn’t recognize himself.

The dress itself is pale pink, all satin with a layer of shining lace, looking like a pool of liquid delicacy on the bed.  Credence can’t imagine what it will be like to wear it, but he knows he’ll soon find out.

Grindelwald guides him to step into it, pulling the fabric over his hips and taking his wrists to bring them through the sleeves.  He settles it over Credence’s shoulders and gently pulls the zipper closed to where it sits low on his back, and Credence can feel the dress wrapping around him. 

Credence looks down at himself, and he gasps.  The skirt hangs like a waterfall from his waist, the hem making ripples around his calves and swaying with every movement.  The bodice itself brings out curves in his waist he didn’t know he had, and it clings to his figure like a web.  Two sheets of lace are sewn to the waist in front, crossing each other and draping over his hips to tie in a bow around the back, just over the rise of his ass, and bringing out the definition of breasts he doesn’t have.  The sleeves are a cascade of frills about his arms and the neckline forms a gentle V, every line of the dress exuding a delicate fragility.  Credence stares at himself in wonder, and he looks to Grindelwald.  He doesn’t dare speak.

“That’s better.  Not so plain after all, are you?”  Credence makes a move as though to go to him but Grindelwald holds up a hand, approval dropping from his face in an instant.  “Ah-ah.  We’re not done yet.”

He sits Credence on an ottoman at the end of the bed, regarding him.  Grindelwald seems to have a plan, not wasting a moment on indecision as he reaches back once again, this time for long, gold ribbons.

He takes Credence’s wrist, positioning him like a doll with his hand held out in front, and weaves a strip of ribbon from his palm up to his elbow as though it were a glove, finishing it with a bow.  He does the same on the other side, and with a wave of Grindelwald’s wand Credence can feel ribbons braiding themselves through his hair, tugging and twisting.  Stockings are next, filmy and gossamer against his skin as Grindelwald slips them on him one foot at a time, rolling them up his leg.  Grindelwald takes the final strip of gold and ties it around his throat, the long ends of the perfect bow trailing over his chest.  The finishing touch.

Grindelwald regards Credence as though he were a piece of art he wished to inspect for perfection, and a slow smile forms on his lips.  There’s no compassion in that smile, no mercy or care, and Credence knows that the gentle touches are done.  He catches sight of himself in the mirror across the room when Grindelwald slides a hand around his waist to pull him up, and his stomach lurches.  This isn’t any version of himself that he knows, this delicate, soft, fragile thing reflected back at him.  This is Grindelwald’s toy.

Grindelwald takes his time positioning Credence on the bed.  He lays him out carefully, making sure everything from the flow of his skirt to the angle of his wrist to the fan of his hair is perfect.

And then he comes back with a phial, the potion inside a glimmering orange.

“Can’t have you squirming today, you’d ruin yourself.  Drink up.”

Grindelwald holds the back of Credence’s head and tips the phial to his lips, and Credence swallows it all. 

It’s hot on his tongue and down his throat, and the heat spreads through him, out through his chest and his limbs until it settles itself in his muscles.  He gives a distressed little whine which makes Grindelwald tut, and then it’s over.  Too late.  He lies useless on the silk sheets, body heavy with Grindelwald’s potion, able only to breathe and blink and cry.

“Beautiful,” Grindelwald breathes, and then he’s close above Credence, a hand stroking down the length of his body and wand tip pressing just below his sternum. 

Credence feels the sting of it, the sharp pain which would cause him to flinch away if he could move, and out of the corner of his vision he sees the blood welling up around the tip of Grindelwald’s wand.  Tears spill from the corners of his eyes, pain and fear and sick arousal mixing in his stomach and making him want to curl in on himself on sob.

He lies limply on the bed as Grindelwald drags the tip of his wand down, parting Credence’s skin in a clean line which leaves a crimson stain on the fabric of the dress, dark at first and then damp as it seeps through.  Grindelwald leaves Credence’s skin in tatters with his spell, but the lace is intact.

He leaves little parallel cuts down the delicate skin at the insides of Credence’s thighs, making him squeeze his eyes shut and whimper at each new stroke.  He can feel the warmth of the blood trickling down his skin, and the scent starts to fill the room.  It’s heavy, metallic, familiar.

By the time Grindelwald is finished cutting his thighs to ribbons Credence is dizzy with it.  The potion does nothing to dull the bite of it, and the pain and fear and helplessness mix together with the blood loss to bring a fuzziness to his mind.  He forgets what’s happening, just waiting for the next slice of his skin.

Grindelwald cuts along his collarbone, traces the V of his neckline, carves the swirling pattern of the lace into his skin and watches it stain.  Each cut is fluid, searing, and precise.  Credence can’t work his mouth well enough to speak but he cries, desperate hurt sounds falling constantly from his lips as he feels the blood drip and pool, sticky and drying in some places and flowing freely in others.  The beautiful lace of his dress is blooming with scarlet.

Grindelwald works with a fascination, the tip of his wand damp with Credence’s blood.  He outlines the contours of Credence’s body with slashes, and watches as the sheets soak beneath him.

Credence’s world is fading out, his breath coming shallowly.  Perhaps when he wakes it will be over, he hopes, perhaps he doesn’t need to be here for the rest of this.  But he never quite manages to drift away, each new stroke of Grindelwald’s wand dragging him back to the surface.  He must have flowers on his skin now, red like roses and traced from the lace, and he wonders if Grindelwald will make it scar.  Maybe then Grindelwald would think he was pretty.

“Look at you doll, you need it.”  Grindelwald’s voice is soft, almost reverent at his own work.  “Why don’t I keep you like this?  Bleeding for me, you do it so well.”

Yes, he wants to do well, he’ll do anything, he just wants to do well.  He tries to say so, but the sound gets lost on its way to his lips.

Grindelwald runs his fingers through the blood pooling on Credence’s chest, and he smiles.  “One last thing, darling.  Then you’re perfect.”

With one hand he takes Credence’s jaw, and with the other he paints Credence’s lips red with the blood on his fingertips.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me at [ mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com ](http://mercurial-tenacity.tumblr.com/)! I'm always taking prompts for this series, so if there's something you want to see let me know :D


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